


Evanescence

by dementia9



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Lost Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RPF, Slow Burn, Suicide, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 08:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14053269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementia9/pseuds/dementia9
Summary: Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet reconnect after a tragic loss, which forces them to deal with their painful pasts.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a story that has been on my mind for a few days. Forgive me if it's a bit slow, but that's how I want it to start.

CREMA, ITALY – AUGUST 9, 2042 11:50 PM

The trembling hand steadied the thin body as it climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Slowly, it approached each step as if uncertain, pausing before continuing again. The breathing was shallow, little gasps emanating from the throat. 

Nighttime had already fallen upon the town. It was ten minutes to midnight, and the body needed rest. Tomorrow was another day, after all. Ten minutes was enough. It was a struggle every night. And yet, the body continued. Even on this night, things would be no different. Loafer-covered feet would challenge the staircase, though weakened by fatigue. If they slipped, they lost the battle.

When the body finally reached the bedroom, a deep sigh came, then a series of hacking coughs. The feet were like lead as they slowly slid into the bedroom, the soles barely lifting. They made their way to the bed, the body lowering itself onto the mattress, the hands pulling the limbs in the same direction. An arm reached over to turn off the nightstand lamp, and soon, the head hit the pillow. 

Another night of fitful, dreamless sleep. Another night of pain as the eyes wandered the ceiling. 

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 6:55 AM

Mist coated the busy streets as dawn began to break. There were few cars out, the noises only recognizable by the drumming motor or the screeching tires in acceleration. Street lights shone brightly, casting streaks of red, yellow and green across the asphalt. A man walked across the street, puffing on a cigarette and singing in accented English.

Timothée Chalamet watched the scene from his bedroom window, his bed forgotten as insomnia embraced him. He welcomed the mist as the summer seemed so intense, the heat radiating from every corner of his skin. A small pot of lavender sat on the windowsill, its fragrance filling his nose even as he dragged on his own cigarette. He left the window ajar to let the air in, not meaning to wake anyone else in the apartment. He was not a heavy smoker by any means, but only when something was on his mind, something…troubling.

He was no longer the picture of innocent, ebullient boyishness, and yet – at forty-six - he still carried that youthful charm. His green, gold-flecked eyes were still piercing, able to melt onlookers in a glance. His hair – still dark and curly – was swept to the side, and a thin goatee lined his sharp features. He was still somewhat pale and thin but not gaunt, as years of fitness defined his toned physique. His arms and legs carried muscle that he never sported in his youth, but he possessed the body of a dancer.

But even now, he felt older. His body sagged under the weight of anguish, and he was not quite sure why.

As he flicked the cigarette into the mist, he felt two hands encircle his slim waist and lips press against his naked shoulder. Jasmine replaced the scent of lavender, and he instantly smiled as he felt the soft cotton folds along his bare back.

“ _Bonjour, Papa,_ ” came the whisper.

“ _Bonjour, ma fille,_ ” he replied, leaning in to kiss the cheek. “You’re up early.”

“That’s because you are,” the girl whispered, leaning her head on her father’s shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

Timothée sighed, “No, I couldn’t.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Timothée shook his head, frustrated by the interrogation. “Don’t worry so much about me, Liliane. I’ll be alright.”

Liliane – or Lili, as her family called her – was the spitting image of her father, with thick chestnut curls falling along her back and playful green eyes that suggested a sensuality that exceeded her seventeen years. Her skin was not milk white like his, but an olive that seemed to glisten in the sun.

Liliane stared out of the window as her father did, not speaking another word. She had been worried about him ever since they landed in Paris two weeks before, a planned visit with his sister, Pauline. But he refused to discuss his problem, reiterating that he just wanted to spend time with his daughter and not worry about all the headaches he left behind in New York. And in truth, Paris was supposed to be his haven, but even now, it wasn’t.

“ _Tatie_ will be up soon,” Liliane began, lifting her head. “She’ll be making breakfast. I’ve thought about going to the Louvre today. I haven’t been there yet.” 

It was true, as the sound of the kettle whistling in the background proved. Pauline was up, and certainly not a moment too soon. She was going to fuss over him again, but he tried to keep that from crossing his mind.

Instead, the man laughed, his voice tinkling with mirth as he faced his daughter, “You had all this time, _cherie_! We go back in a week!”

Liliane rolled her eyes before pulling away. “We have time, Dad! It’s not a big deal. We’ve been seeing family since we’ve been here.” She shrugged her shoulders before looking down. “Maybe we should see Mom, too.”

She felt her head lift as Timothée placed a palm under her chin, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek again. She looked at him and blushed, embarrassed by her request.

“You miss her, don’t you?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes before gathering her into his arms.

Peace ended as a glass shattered and a sharp “ _Merde!_ ” rang through the air. They both rushed out of the room and into the kitchen, where they noticed Pauline, clad in her pale yellow nightgown, standing by the counter. By her feet was the culprit, a white demitasse of tea making a Jackson Pollock on the marbled floor. She raised her head as she acknowledged their presence, tears filling her eyes.

“Pauline, _qu’est-ce qui s’est passe_?” Timothée asked her, inching closer, almost ignoring the glass.  


“Be careful,“ she cried out, pointing in his direction before taking the newspaper in her hands. “I, um… I guess you haven’t seen the news yet.”

His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, Timothée took the paper from his older sister and looked down, expressionless.

“You’d better call him,” she whispered.

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – AUGUST 9, 11:05 PM

Armie Hammer only closed his eyes for five minutes before the phone rang. He never went to sleep this early anymore; it used to be considered late when the kids were young, but now he was alone. Gruffly and muttering obscenities, he kicked the sheets off his body in the darkness, nearly knocking over the half-empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand.

He sat up in bed and ran his fingers through his short blond hair, hesitating before he picked up his phone. It seemed too late to be calling, but he hadn’t received a call like this in years. Then again, he did not even want to think about it.

 _Whoever the fuck this is_ , he thought, _I’ll give him a piece of my mind._

Without checking the identification, he pressed ‘Answer’ on his phone and barked out, “Hello?”

A beat, then, “ _A-Armie?_ ”

Armie’s body shivered at the sound of the familiar voice on the other end. His voice softened as he spoke again. “Timmy? I-Is that you?”

“ _Yeah, it’s me_ ,” Timothée replied. “ _Listen, I’m sorry for calling you so late. I didn’t think I’d reach you…_ ”

“It’s alright, Timmy,” Armie interrupted, breathing a sigh of relief. He was only glad to hear that voice again even if it was only for the briefest of moments. “What’s going on?”

Armie could hear him swallowing on the other end before taking a deep breath. The silence made him impatient, and he was about to tell Timothée until he heard his voice again.

“ _It’s Luca. H-He’s gone._ ”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but it does express some of the things that have been going on with at least one character. Enjoy!

CHAPTER I

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 7:07 AM

From the kitchen, as Pauline cleaned up the glass and the tea, Liliane watched her father engrossed in deep conversation with Armie, his hand shakily running through his hair. It was a nervous tic, she was once told, and not just because his hair was too long and getting in the way. He walked back and forth in the living room, explaining to Armie what he had just read, and the news shook her even more.

“I don’t know, man,” Timothée replied, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know anything…”

She did not care to eavesdrop; he was obviously hurting, and he needed a friend. Her father was trying to hold the tears in, but it was no use. Luca was a friend to him and Armie. She met Luca once, when she was much younger, and Crema was a happy, faraway land. Now, it seemed whenever she heard about the town, it was almost a distant memory.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep you posted,” Timothée croaked, “Okay… Bye.”

The goodbye was strained, almost as if he did not want to let go. Silently, she walked over to where her father was pacing and took his hand to still him. Timothée looked at her and silently smiled. His face was now red and wet, and he was sniffling.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I haven’t felt this way in years.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Liliane soothed, kissing her father’s cheek. “How’s Uncle Armie?”

Timothée chuckled, “You haven’t called him that in a long time. He’s…not doing well, baby. I think this news just made everything worse.”

Liliane’s eyes shifted back and forth. “But that’s not your fault.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he corrected her, covering her hand with his wet one. “It’s not that. I-It’s just that… How can I say this?” He sighed again before continuing, “He’s been going through a rough patch lately. There have been a lot of issues with his family, and, um… It’s just been chaotic, to say the least.”

Liliane nodded. “How bad?”

“I don’t know if I want to get into it right now, but really bad,” Timothée answered, lowering his head. “I’m surprised you haven’t read about it. They’ve been splashing his business all over the press for years.”

Liliane rolled her eyes with a smile. “Well, you know I don’t read everything in the press. You taught me that, remember?” 

The two of them shared a laugh as Pauline entered the room, her nightgown flowing. Her brown hair fell loose upon her shoulders, framing her oval face. She was wiping her hands in a dish towel as she took a seat on the opposite side of Timothée, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Timmy, _mon frére_ ,” she whispered, rubbing his arm. “I’m so sorry, love.”

Timothée looked at the two women flanked on his sides and kissed their foreheads. He could not imagine being Luca or Armie, alone in despair. And yet, somehow, he understood the loneliness. 

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – AUGUST 9, 11:15 PM

Armie stood by the window of his dark room, staring into the night. From his house, he could see some of the lights of the city. Once an escape from the madness, the house now felt like a prison. Every room was cold and empty, even his bedroom.

Holding the neck of the bottle, he put it against his lips and swallowed a mouthful of vodka. He felt it run down his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tears stinging his eyes. Timothée’s news already burdened him, saddling him with unbearable pain. He wondered if this was what Luca was feeling, unable to move without something shooting up within or threatening to break with one wrong step.

He wondered if his own heart was just as fragile.

 _No,_ he thought. _Not Luca! Damn it, anyone but him!_

Luca… The man’s name rang in his ears, throbbing. He closed his eyes to calm the approaching headache and nausea, leaning his head against the cool pane. He took three deep breaths, counting to himself deliberately before lifting his head. He remembered how Luca stared at him when they filmed, how he admired his frame, how much he made him laugh, the passionate in his gestures and arguments.

And now, that was gone.

As he looked through the window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He was a shell of his former self – his stomach was bloated due to the constant drinking, his blond hair unkempt and scraggly, his beard long and slightly knotted. His blue eyes – once considered his most attractive feature – now had no life, darkened by despair. He wore only shorts to bed as it was summer, and he did not have to worry about anyone looking at him; there was no one there.

As he took another swig of his drink, he thought of calling Timmy back. He wanted to have a conversation and try to force the loneliness out as much as he could. He was surprised that his number hadn’t changed, despite all the distance between them, but it was not about reconciliation now. They had lost a friend.

_Harper. Call Harper._

He wouldn’t know if his daughter would speak to him now. She lived in Texas, and she was probably asleep unless the twins kept her up. It had been such a long time since he had seen any of them – his daughter, his grandchildren. She hadn’t kept up, no matter how much she promised. But he hadn’t, either, and that was a source of tension. Too much time had passed, too many memories. Distance, they mutually decided, was better for now.

He looked down at his phone and hesitated, but then shook his head as if to clear any errant thoughts from his mind. He searched her number and dialed it, putting the receiver to his ear. The phone rang three times before it went to voicemail.

_Hi, this is Harper. I’m not available right now. Please leave a message._

Armie sighed waiting for the beep before speaking. ”Hey, honey, this is Dad. Listen, uh… Please give me a call when you can. There’s something we need to talk about.”

A knock at the door made Armie jump, his phone nearly slipping from his hand. The light on the figure showed a familiar silhouette, and Armie knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

“H-Harper?” he whispered.

“Hey, Daddy,” the voice replied softly. “I’m home.”


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER II

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – AUGUST 9, 11:30 PM

Armie watched Harper’s slim frame flitter around the kitchen, grabbing pots and pans as she started to prepare a meal. She had already put on a kettle for tea, setting out mugs with bags of Earl Grey on the kitchen table. On the counter were an open box of pasta and a jar of tomato sauce, the remaining groceries put away into the cupboard. He observed her prowess, and he started to laugh.

“Aren’t you tired, honey?” he drawled, shaking his head.

“No, Daddy,” she sighed, chopping up vegetables. “I’m too worried about you to be tired.”

Armie pursed his lips and bent his head down. “Is that why you showed up?”

Harper turned around and stared at her father, her brown eyes blazing. “Somebody had to. I mean, look at you! You’ve been shutting yourself off from the world! Why are you by yourself all the time?”

“Alright, Harper, alright,” Armie cried, rubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t want to turn into some sort of goddamn argument! I mean, you just came back and your own father can’t even ask a question?”

Harper slammed the knife down on the cutting board and bit her lip before answering, “I just miss you. That’s all.”

“Then why don’t you visit?”

Harper emitted a mirthless laugh. “Funny, Dad, I could ask you the same thing.”

Armie muttered a curse under his breath and ran a hand through his short hair. Six months. It had been six months since Armie had seen his daughter. It had been six months since that day.

“It’s about Mom,” Harper replied quietly, resuming her chopping, “isn’t it? Too many memories of her in Texas, right? You’re not the only who lost her, you know.”

Armie fell silent, knowing his daughter was right. He leaned his elbows on the table and put his hands in prayer, resting his head against them. After Elizabeth’s death, it had been hard to fill the void. He knew that things would change, but he never thought that would mean losing everything.

As she dumped the chopped vegetables in a pan of oil, she continued speaking. “Do you know how hard it is to just walk around and pass the bakery, knowing that I’ll never see her face again? Do you know how much I’ll miss hearing her voice, smelling her perfume… being able to hug her and tell her I love her?”

She sprinkled some salt into a pot of boiling water and onto the vegetables, stirring them with a slotted spoon. She grabbed the box of pasta and poured the contents into the pot, her back still turned to her father. Her voice wavered as she spoke, but he never interrupted. 

“You know, Dad, you don’t have to be alone. You have people who love you and care for you. All they want is to see you do well. Mom always told me that. She supported you, you know, even when things were bad. She never stopped. She was so strong. I admired her for that.” 

A strange noise startled Harper, and she turned around to find Armie sobbing in the palms of his hands. Her shoulders sagged as she saw him, and she suddenly felt a weight of guilt in her heart. She did not remember ever seeing her father so broken, not even after Elizabeth’s funeral. She approached him slowly and cradled his head against her stomach, his tears soaking the hem of her white blouse. His wrapped his arms around her and cried harder, his body shaking.

“Let it out,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. “Just let it out, Daddy. You’ve been holding onto the pain for too long.”

Armie’s sobs began to wane, and he slowly pulled back from his daughter, resting his arms in his lap and sniffling. He snuck a look around for his cigarettes before realizing they were in the bedroom, but he stayed put. He never recalled ever crying so hard, except perhaps in his childhood.

“I’m sorry, Harper,” he whispered, wiping his tears with his palms. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Harper stared at him for a moment before she bent down and kissed his forehead. She pulled back and looked in his eyes, her own tears threatening to fall.

“I love you,” she whispered back to him. “Don’t ever feel sorry for that.”

She pulled her hands away and walked back to the stove, where the pasta and vegetables were cooking. As she prepared the food, Armie said to her, “I don’t know if you heard, hon.”

“Heard what, Dad?”

A pause, then, “Luca’s dead.”

Harper lifted her head and spun around. “What?”

Armie nodded. “Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “He, um… He shot himself. They’re saying he’d been sick for a while.”

Harper gripped the side of the counter as if feeling faint. “Oh, God. How did you…” She trailed off.

Armie closed his eyes, a tremor going through his legs. “Timmy called me, of all people.”

“How is he?”

He sighed, “Very upset, sweetheart. We were all very close.”

Harper cocked her head to the side and whispered, “When did all this happen?”

Armie sighed, his voice husky with ache. “The phone call was about twenty minutes ago. Luca died around midnight his time, on his birthday. I was going to call him in the morning.”

Harper’s eyes shifted back and forth, and she wrapped her arms around her body, as if the temperature in the kitchen dropped. “I-I-Is that why you were crying just now?”

“Partly,” Armie replied, staring into space. “I thought about your mother, too.”

The smell of food filled the air, the steam wafting through the kitchen. Harper went back to the stove and turned the knobs to shut it off. “Dinner’s ready.”

**********************

It was in a photograph, the three of them standing together and laughing. Harper held the frame in her hands after pulling it from the fireplace mantle. With a manicured finger, she traced the frame and the faces of the men inside. It had been so different then – she herself was a toddler when they were filming, and everyone seemed happy. At least, that was what she had been told.

She could not remember any of these moments since she had been so small, but it was almost like she could envision Crema in her head – the peach groves, the salty smell of the beach, the lilting _cremaschi_ dialect, and the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain on the windows. The stories Armie would tell in his animated way would always enrapture her.

It was nearly one in the morning. She looked over at her father, who had fallen asleep on the living room couch. With the photograph placed against her breast, she covered her father with a nearby blanket, kissing him on his eyebrow before heading to bed. 

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered.

She stood and started to walk away before looking back at him again. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, then set down the photograph on an adjacent table, turning off the light as she left the room.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post something sooner, but I have been busy with moving. I decided to post a small chapter, which should whet some appetites, but I promise nothing! *lol*
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

CHAPTER III

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 9:00 AM

"I'll keep you company if you want."

Timothée tore his eyes from the window as he heard his sister speak. "I'm sorry?"

Sitting at the kitchen table, Pauline watched her brother while eating a bowl of fruit. "I can come with you to the service in Italy. I don't know if Lili wants to come with you, but I assume she will. Three may be a crowd, but it’s an offer."

Timothée stared at his sister as his lips slowly spread into a grin. He walked over to the table, reaching a hand into her bowl and stealing an orange slice as she swatted it away.  


"Hey, that's mine," she giggled, pointing her fork at him. "You already had some, remember?"

Timothée started chuckling at Pauline's reaction for a half-minute before he let his face become serious again. He gave a huge sigh before placing a hand on her arm and caressing it slowly.

“It would be good, you know, having you there,” he replied softly. “Both of you. Thanks.”

Pauline cocked her head to the side and gave a watery smile. “I know you were very fond of Luca. It’s…such a shame about what happened.”

Timothée shook his head, wrapped up in his own disbelief. Luca never seemed suicidal; he was mostly unflappable. At times, when he worked with him, Luca would get annoyed about something or other. It was his passionate side, fiery and brilliant like a growing inferno when aided by some accelerant. It was rare to see him lose his temper, but that was only because he was consumed by the art, wanting the project to be as perfect and sensual as could be. At least, that’s how Timothée saw it, in part because he felt it, too.

Sometimes, Luca and Armie mirrored each other.

Timothée turned his face back to the window and stared. There were times where he wondered about Armie, wanting to pick up the phone or write something to him. Perhaps he was a coward, because he never made the first move. 

_Typical,_ he thought sadly. _Nothing ventured, nothing gained._

He wondered if he had the same address, whether he traded in his cars, how grown his kids were. He thought of Harper and Ford and how time had passed. He remembered Armie at Luca’s house singing to Timothée’s own child, with Luca taking pictures. Then it was Luca’s turn with Lili, walking past the peach groves and bouncing her in his arms, speaking to her alternately in French and Italian. The memories of filming were precious, ample - the family unit, whole and content, growing in numbers and affection. 

He remembered Armie’s voice when he first told him he loved him. Luca was there, smiling conspiratorially before he embraced the two of them.

With a groan, he put his head in his hands and choked back a sob. 

“Damn it,” he hissed, tears spilling from his eyes. 

Pauline gently moved her chair toward her brother and wrapped her arms around him, rocking him back and forth as he cried against her chest. She patted his hair as she whispered softly in French, her breath hitching in her throat as she heard her brother call out Luca’s name.

****************

  
_Armie,_

_Sometimes, I go to the department store to sniff your cologne, just because I miss you. It’s strange, I know. I don’t even think about buying it. I’m sure the cashier stares at me like a lunatic, wondering if I’ll ever make that move. But I don’t, because it’s too risky. The fact that it would be in my house would make me miss you more, and I don’t want to regress. I couldn’t even wear it, because nothing can replace your natural scent._

_I’m sorry I haven’t mailed this. I supposed I should have started out with that first, but even after so many years. I don’t know how to not be all over the place. But I don’t know where you live anymore. I’m sure you live in the same place, but I don’t know that. Jesus, here I go again, indecisive as always._

_The truth is, I don’t know how to live without you anymore. Even as a friend, it’s hard letting go. Hearing your voice over the phone made me realize that, despite everything that’s going on. I don’t know why it took losing someone for me to reach out to you! Fear, I guess._

_I know you miss your family, probably even more than you miss me. I hate what happened to Elizabeth, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been. The service wasn’t enough. I know Ford was angry for a while. I can’t even give him a call. They were my babies, just as much as Lili is mine and they were yours. What happened to Ford was heartbreaking. I know you won’t talk about it because it hurts too much, but no parent should ever have to deal with that._

Showered and fully dressed, Timothée looked at the letter and squinted his eyes, as if looking for any tiny errors in the paragraphs. He had been trying to write the same letter to Armie, but nothing seemed to be working. Growling in frustration, he balled up the paper and threw it on the floor, making a mental note to throw it in the garbage can later. He did not want to get into anything sad; there was a funeral being planned, and he had to psych himself up to get ready to leave when the notice came.

But part of him did not want to leave France yet.

He knew Armie would be there; he couldn’t imagine him not making it. Luca was his friend, too, and it was only fair. But he knew he could not face him, even if his heart willed it so. With a shake of his head, he called Liliane before standing and walking to the front door, carrying his cigarettes with him.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I finally posted a new chapter! I apologize for the lateness, but I'm still getting settled into my new place. Well, that and the fact that I've been working. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

CHAPTER IV

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – AUGUST 10, 11:30 AM

Armie felt the sun beating down upon him, his eyes slowly opening as he pulled himself out of sleep. He quickly closed them as he felt the familiar throb of a headache. He wondered why he allowed himself to drink so much when he would often wake up feeling worse than the night before. He had also eaten – he thought things would be better. But then, he recalled not having much of an appetite, and now he was paying the price. When he regained enough of his focus, he noticed a plate of toast and a glass of water on the coffee table.

 _Hops_ , he thought, pursing his lips. His baby girl.

Gingerly, he sat up, the room already spinning. He slowly pushed himself to the edge of the couch, one hand gripping the cushion to steady himself as the other grabbed the glass of water. He began gulping it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand once the glass was empty.

“You’re finally up,” he heard Harper say.

Armie stuttered, not looking up. “Uh… Y-Yeah.”

Harper stood against the wall as she watched her father carefully. She knew he had been drowning his sorrows; it was something she had gotten used to ever since her mother’s death. The provisions were customary – water for hydration, bread for nourishment. Both were things that her father refused to give himself.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked him, walking over to the couch.

Armie cleared his throat before answering. “Okay. It’s, uh, been a while since I had any kind of rest.”

“I imagine,” Harper replied, sitting next to him and kissing his cheek. “It’s quite late in the day. I figured you’d need to sleep.” She clasped her hand in his. “I worry about you, Dad. I know you’re a widower, but you don’t have to spend the rest of your life alone. You know, you’ve got me. The kids will love you.”

“I don’t want to move to Texas, Harper,” Armie whined. “I told you this. Yeah, you’re there, and so is your family, but…”

“…so is Mom,” Harper replied sadly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Look, Dad, I know, but I hate what’s happening to you.”

Armie shook his head. “I thought we had this conversation last night. Guess it was just the start, huh?”

Harper sighed, feeling another argument approach. “Okay, Dad. Later.”

Armie closed his eyes and tried to fight back tears. _Later_. It was such a silly word in context, but there had been so many layers that it almost seemed like a character itself. The memory of those moments deepened Armie’s grief, and he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I… I have to get ready to go to C-Crema,” Armie choked out, trying to stand. But his legs wobbled and gave way before he landed back on the couch. Harper grabbed his arm as he collapsed, wrapping her own around his shoulders. 

“It’s okay, Dad,” she whispered. “We don’t have to do it right now. Maybe we should wait until you’re better, okay?”

Armie shook his head. ”I have to find something else to concentrate on other than how shitty I feel.” 

Harper pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Well, we don’t know when the service will be, but we’ll make it there.”

Armie stood still before taking stock of his daughter’s words. His eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “You’re coming with me?”

Harper shrugged. “If you don’t mind.”

Armie closed his eyes again and groaned. Harper was trying to help – he knew that, but he did not feel like being babied. It was already enough that she seemed to be treating him like a child, but he was acting a little one.

“I already have the plane tickets, Dad,” she replied to him, stroking his arm up and down.

Armie’s eyes widened as she told him this. He could have done it himself, but seeing him in the condition he was in, it was any wonder that Harper decided to take control.

Harper had been the one to handle all the orders in the bakery, take stock of the inventory, even patronize the customers. She was able to train everyone on staff the way her mother trained her: with patience, understanding, and hands-on guidance, even if the hand needed to be firm. She was also the one who cleared everything for her own wedding – the flowers, the music, the guest list, the food. Armie knew that he should not be intimidated by such a type, but he could not help but be attracted to it – it was what he admired.

Like mother, like daughter.

Illness had taken over Elizabeth’s life, and the family knew she hated it. She chalked up to working too hard and doing too much. But she was a go-getter, and she would be damned if anything got in the way of her desires. She loved the fact that her own children were involved, but she acknowledged that she was a control freak; everything had to be just so. Armie himself saw the same thing in Harper – raising her own family while trying to keep everything in order on the business end. While the stress did not kill Elizabeth, it certainly played a hand in her demise.

He was scared for Harper. And she would tell him the same thing his wife used to tell him: “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.”

He could almost hear Elizabeth’s gentle Texas lilt in his ear, something he missed as he spoke to his daughter, a proud Californian. Occasionally, it would slip out, and he would sigh as if resigned to the fact that it only came out in such moments, almost never to be heard from again. Harper reminded him once that he could look her up online, but he never gave himself the chance to.

“What are you thinking about?” Harper asked him, interrupting his train of thought.

Armie felt her hand on his shoulder as he stared blankly into space. “Nothing. I’m just…” He patted her hand gently and looked at her. “I’m just glad you’re here, that’s all."

*******************

__  
**2035**  


_The noise could be heard from downstairs. Armie grimaced as he heard the violent retching and dashed up the stairs to investigate. He approached the bathroom cautiously, knocking on the door._

_“Honey, you okay?” he asked, knowing full well the answer._

__

__

_He heard the flushing of the toilet, and soon, the water running. When it stopped, the door finally opened, and out stepped Harper, peaked and sweating. Her blond hair was matted to her forehead, while the rest stuck out of a messy bun._

_“I’m okay, Dad,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It’s just morning sickness.”_

__

__

_Armie sighed, pulling his daughter in his arms and rubbing her back. “You know, between you and your mother, I have a lot to worry about lately.”_

_“I’m only two months along, Dad,” Harper replied, her head leaning against her father’s broad chest. “It happens.”_

_“Yeah, I know,” he chuckled. “Your mom was there twice.”_

_Harper groaned and wrapped her arms around his waist. “How is she?”_

_She did not notice Armie shaking his head, but the silence that followed was enough to make her understand. Things were not going well._

_“She’s sleeping in the next room,” he replied, evading the question. “She’s had a rough go of it for the past two weeks. But, of course, she wants to look after everyone.”_

_“Maybe I’ll check in on her,” Harper replied. “In the meantime, I’d better brush my teeth. Don’t want to perfume the room with vomit breath, you know?”_

_Armie nodded and pulled back. “Do you…want some saltines? They could help soothe your stomach.”_

_Harper nodded, then added, “In a minute. I might have to barricade myself in the bathroom if I puke again.”_

_“You’ll be fine,” Armie whispered, leaning over to kiss his daughter’s forehead, then brushed his palm against it. “Hmm, you feel a little warm. Maybe you should get some rest yourself. I’ll bring you some crackers and tea.”_

_“Dad, I…” Harper began protesting._

_But Armie silenced her with a piercing glance. “No buts, young lady! Let’s get you to bed. I’ll text Ford and see if he can pick something up for you when he gets off work.”_

_Harper smiled. “What would we do without you, Dad?”_

_Armie shook his head and returned the smile, his arms akimbo. “I believe I should be asking you that question!”_

_Taking the hint, Harper went back to her bedroom down the hall and closed the door. Alone, Armie’s smile fell, and he walked to his bedroom. Upon opening the door, there was Elizabeth on the bed, sleeping. She was on her back with her hands clasped over her stomach. Her skin was quite pale with heavy circles around her eyes, her lips chalky. She was asleep in Armie’s bathrobe as she mentioned that she felt cold during the night. He found it funny – San Antonio could be burning, but Elizabeth could never get warm. Walking over to her, he sat on the bed and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a kiss. Elizabeth never stirred, taken by her slumber._

_“Good morning, my love,” Armie whispered. “I love you. I’ll be here when you need me.”_

_But Elizabeth continued to sleep. After sitting for a while, Armie decided to take his leave, straightening the blanket and kissing his wife on the cheek. He stood and walked toward the door before stopping and looking in her direction again. Tears filled his eyes as he watched her, unsure of what to do._

_“Please forgive me.”_


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been posting short chapters and they may seem slow, but most of the action will not take place until everyone gets to Crema for the funeral. Also, I will try to update regularly, but given that I work, there is no guarantee. I'm hoping for the best, though. :)

CHAPTER V

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 8:00 PM

_”Good evening, everyone. Breaking news out of Italy: Luca Guadagnino, the legendary director who brought us such timeless classics as ‘I Am Love’ and his most cherished and popular film, ‘Call Me By Your Name,’ was found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound from his home in Crema earlier this morning. Guadagnino, had recently undergone surgery to repair damage to his legs after suffering an accident, which prompted his retirement from film two years ago. Funeral arrangements are still in the planning stages. There were no immediate survivors._

_“Guadagnino died on his seventieth birthday.”_

Liliane shut off the television in the living room, unable to stomach more of the reporting. The news of Luca’s suicide had been everywhere. Sighing, she made her way to the bedroom and shut the door, crawling into bed. She was already drained from a day of walking, but her father decided to leave the space and go off on his own.  


She could not blame him, really. It was already an emotionally taxing day, and now he had to pretend that things were fine just to keep up appearances and get through the rest of the stay. Liliane saw through it; there was more to her father than he dared to let on, but she consented to his stony silences. She did not understand it, though; her father was always an open book. Something obviously happened to change that, and Luca’s death was just part of it. She respected her father, but if he wished to cover up his own problems with that excuse, she would let him have it.

She missed their easygoing relationship and communication. It was not that there was nothing there, but it was diminishing. When her mother left, it had just been the two of them. Timothée had been broken and angry about the divorce, but even he knew it had been a long time coming. Yet, he refused to make his nine-year-old daughter suffer, reminding her that her mother always loved her and that she deserved the young girl’s respect. But Liliane never forgot the pain in her father’s eyes, and initially, that seemed to be an impossible task. Ever since, she took it upon herself to be her father’s keeper, giving him love and a shoulder to cry on when he needed it the most. Timothée’s tenderness grew, even as he had to shoulder the responsibility in her development.

Her body changed the following year, her hips and breasts expanding. He never flinched, never wavered. Instead, despite the trepidation of watching her transformation into womanhood, he would tell her that she was beautiful. Naturally, he would also tell her to be cautious about anyone she met, lest they take advantage of her. But he trusted her to make the right decisions. 

Overtime, their relationship reached an unusual intimacy, their touches lingering, tightening in each other’s fragile grasp. She would sleep in his bed, holding his body as if to keep him near. There was a strange fear of losing him that she was consumed by, a belief that he shared, even though he assured her that things would be fine.

Now, as she drifted off to sleep, it seemed she had been vindicated.

*******************

Timothée walked around the nearly-darkened streets of the city, lost in thought. He left the women in the apartment, quietly slipping out, as he said, “to get some air.” It was not that he did not enjoy their company, but after everything that happened, he did not need to be crowded any more than he already was.

And yet, it had been a beautiful day, warm and slightly overcast. He and Liliane walked to the Louvre instead of taking the metro. They had eaten lunch at a nearby bistro, Liliane sharing jokes in French with her father, holding his hand, reminding him that she was always there for him. Timothée found her enthusiasm infectious, his face and stomach sore from so much laughter that he almost forgot he was in mourning.

Almost.

Now, as night was falling, he found himself back on the streets, wandering alone with the company of a lighter and a cigarette carton in his pocket. A slight breeze touched his skin, and he found himself unconsciously rubbing his forearm in the heat. The streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks as the cars whizzed by. People around him chattered, held hands, kissed, laughed. But Timothée could not.

In his solitude, he found himself thinking of Luca again. He remembered walking on his estate grounds with him during filming, surrounded by apricot trees and the warm, salty Italian air. There was something unusually fatherly about Luca, walking with his arms behind his back one minute, reciting stories and jokes; in another, wrapping an arm around Timmy’s shoulders, sharing sweet words and glances, encouraging his talent and curiosity and not the self-aggrandizing bullshit that Hollywood was offering. Timothée lived for such affirmation then; he wished to be accepted into such a world, wanting to do everything he could to please the public and his detractors, even the ones on the inside.

And here was Luca, telling him that such things did not really matter.

Timothée wished he listened to him, but he ultimately chalked it up to the innocence of youth. He imagined that such an epiphany would come with anyone sooner or later; everyone would learn the lesson in some way. For him, it seemed to take longer. Despite his intelligence, he knew he was not fully mature. But he had not realized how far he had to go until he and Luca stopped talking.

He never figured out why that happened; it just did.

Perhaps the memories were too numerous to keep up with. Perhaps it was all too painful. Whatever the reason, Timothée decided to put the past behind him and start anew.

It was all a lie.

He walked for an hour around the area before going back home, no less empty than he was before. The anguish never left him; it was a vice grip, holding him so tightly that he was suffocating within its grasp. There were many issues that plagued him – Luca, Armie, Liliane, his own failing health.

He never mentioned it to anyone, not even Pauline.

_Mr. Chalamet, your heart is a ticking time bomb. You are on borrowed time._

Bullshit! Wasn’t everyone?

Timothée found himself grateful that his parents were dead. He couldn’t imagine having to tell them he was dying. He looked so healthy that one would not dare believe it. But here he was, and he was now facing his own mortality after the death of a friend.

Perhaps his doctor was right; his heart really could not take any more.

The apartment was on the second floor, and even as he moved at an even pace, he found himself struggling to move up the stairs. It did not happen earlier in the day when he and Liliane were walking, but now, as he made his way to Pauline’s home, he found that his breath was short, and he stopped to catch it. He coughed a little before trying to resume his breathing, leaning against the cool surface of the wall. He took halting breaths, almost in staccato, his pulse slowing down. He could not understand why he was breathing so hard, and he shook whatever remaining thoughts from his head, continuing the rest of the journey to the apartment. With a key that his sister had given him, he unlocked the door and stepped in, and his nose was overwhelmed by the smell of roast chicken. As late as it was, his stomach growled; he had barely eaten anything since lunch.

“Timmy,” Pauline called out from the kitchen, “is that you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Timothée responded, covering a small cough. 

He walked over to the kitchen where Pauline busied herself over the stove, gently wrapping an arm around her waist before dropping a kiss to her cheek.

“How was your walk?” she asked, putting her head on his shoulder.

Timothée shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I, uh, had a lot on my mind.”

Pauline lifted her head and pursed her lips in understanding. “Yeah, I know. You seem to be walking around in a daze.”

Timothée frowned. He had not expected that response. Then, he relaxed in realization that she probably meant his reaction following the news of Luca’s death.

“It’s just…” he began, hesitating. “I don’t know, Pauline. It just feels weird, knowing that I won’t see him again, you know?”

“Hm,” she murmured, stroking her brother’s back. “I thought that way about Romain. The kids and I were pretty shell-shocked.”

Timothée nodded in remembrance. It had been only seven years before. He recalled the hysteria in his sister’s voice after her husband’s death in a motorcycle accident. Romain decided, on a rainy day, to take the bike out, not even getting two miles from the apartment before hydroplaning into traffic. Timothée had been filming a new movie in New York at the time. When he heard the news, he raced off set, telling the director about his family emergency before picking his daughter up from school. He nearly crashed his own car on the way to the airport. 

“How are the kids, by the way?” he asked his sister.

Pauline smiled. “They’re very busy. Stephanie is studying at Oxford and Daniel is in film school. You know he’s studying to be a director, right?”

Timothée chuckled, “Yeah, poor kid. He has no idea how hard that’s gonna be!”

“I keep telling him that,” she laughed, letting go of her brother as she grabbed a mitt and opened the oven to remove the pan of chicken. “You know kids don’t listen!”

“I know, sis,” Timothée sighed, watching Pauline rest the pan on the stove. “Need help?”

Pauline shook her head. “I think I’ve got it. You just get ready for dinner. Lili’s resting.”

As he turned away, Timothée stopped in his tracks. Pauline looked up from the stove and stared at the back of his head. “Tim, is something wrong?”

Timothée did not answer at first. He reached up and scratched his head before he slowly turned back around. Pauline walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“You know,” he began, looking down, “I haven’t been fair to you or Lili. Both of you want me to open up and… I’ve been so scared to. I don’t know why.” He shuddered as he let out a breath. “I just want you to know that I love you both, and I appreciate everything you do. Especially now when…” He suddenly trailed off.

“When what, Tim?” Pauline asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Timothée shook his head. “I don’t know… So much has happened over the years, and I keep finding myself unable to process it all. It’s like I’m in denial or something. Maybe I am.”

“You know, I worry about you,” Pauline replied, pulling him in her arms. “You’re so far away, and I can’t take care of you. I know you’re perfectly capable, but I always think that sooner or later, you’re gonna break. You’ve especially been this way since the divorce, and then, Mom and Dad. I’m not sure what else is going on with you, kid, but you don’t have to hide from me. I love you too much to let you do that, and so does Lili.” She pulled back and wagged a finger in his direction. “Don’t give any of us any more reason to worry about you, okay?”

Timothée rolled his eyes in annoyance and jest. “Yes, Mom.”

“I mean it, Timothée,” she retorted firmly, using the French pronunciation of his name. “ _Don’t._ ”

He stared at his sister wide-eyed, hearing the stern warning and shivering in quiet acceptance. Pauline, noticing her own tone and his reaction, cleared her throat and retreated to the stove, resuming her cooking.

Even as an adult, he could never get used to that.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not updating this - life calls. Also, I've been dealing with some pretty nasty allergies, as of late. Anyway, here is the next chapter.
> 
> **Editor's Note: I just realized a discrepancy in the time frame near the end. As such, slight changes has been made.

CHAPTER VI

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 9:00 PM

Pauline never forgot the first time she laid eyes on Armie Hammer.

It was the spring of 2017, some months after the Sundance premiere of “Call Me By Your Name”. He was everything her brother had described: tall, blond, and impossibly gorgeous. He stood at six-foot-five, well-built with short coiffed hair and a tanned, clean-shaven face. His smile revealed bright white teeth, and his eyes were a hypnotizing blue. She held it together as he shook her hand and even embraced her, but when she was alone with her brother, she let out a low whistle and fanned herself, which made Timothée roll his eyes.

The critics called him a human Ken doll (which, as Armie would sardonically note to Timothée later, was an insult to Ken), and while certainly a catch, Pauline discovered that he was very gracious and self-effacing, especially about his work as an actor.

It also surprised her that at thirty, he was married with children.

At the time of their meeting in New York, Ford had only been a few months old. Armie had shown the Chalamet siblings pictures of the baby, tracking his development. He also revealed photographs of the rest of the young family, including tiny Harper and an even tinier Elizabeth, who snapped back into shape almost immediately after giving birth. Armie talked about his younger brother and his life in the Cayman Islands, only occasionally mentioning his privileged upbringing and almost never bringing up his divorced parents.

Pauline thought Elizabeth had been very sweet, a doting wife and mother who was equally devoted to Timothée. Armie himself had shown his own devotion, which did not go unnoticed by Pauline. While at dinner, Elizabeth commented that Timothée was a heartbreaker, nearly blushing as she described how sexy he was in the film. Armie shook his head and laughed as he watched Timothée himself turned crimson from the praise. Pauline watched as her brother lowered his eyes in embarrassment before lifting them and fluttering his long dark lashes at Armie. Armie’s smile widened, his lower lip getting caught in his teeth as he stared at the handsome younger man.

When he decided to be, Timmy was a real coquet.

Pauline was no fool; she knew a crush when she saw one. After she noticed her brother’s flirty gesture, she decided to mentally pack it away for future use. However, she also knew that the man Timothée had fallen for was off-limits, and she figured she would have to warn the young man before things escalated. The lines seemed to blur between the film and real life, but Pauline hoped otherwise.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have.

Even now, as she sat across from her brother, forks poking at the dinner on their plates, she wondered if that had ever changed – his love for him, his adoration, his need to protect this man from the world when he needed to protect himself. And yet, she could not bring herself to ask him; there were other things to worry about, after all.  


“We should start packing soon,” she said, attempting to make conversation.

Timothée cut his chicken into bites before sticking a piece with his fork and looking at his sister. “Isn’t it too soon? I mean, we don’t even know the arrangements yet.”

Pauline shrugged, then popped a vegetable in her mouth. “I know, but we can find out when we get over there. I’m sure they won’t mind a visit. Anyway, I don’t think we should leave too soon. Perhaps, in the next couple of days?”  


Timothée nodded absently, chewing his food. “Yeah. I guess, you know, considering everything, the autopsy won’t even take that long.”

Pauline stared at him silently before nodding and resuming her eating. She cleared her throat and bent her head over her plate. He stared into space, his eyes peering into the kitchen. They remained quiet for a few minutes before any one of them started speaking again. As close as the two of them were, this kind of distance made no sense.

“Have you called Lola?” Pauline asked him, grabbing her glass of wine.

Timothée shook his head. “Only when we got here. I was hoping to get a visit in with her soon.” He took a swig of wine from his glass. “I feel bad that I haven’t seen her yet. Liliane misses her so much. It’s her mom, after all.”

Pauline smiled. “You know, I always liked her. Hilarious, smart, sarcastic. Hell, she even spoke French better than you!”

“Shut up,” Timothée retorted, giggling. His face turned serious before he added, “But… I’ve missed her, too.”  


Pauline’s smile fell as she looked at her brother, her fingers twirling the stem of her glass. “Do you regret the divorce?”

Timothée sighed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “No, I don’t. I hated how it happened, but looking back, it needed to. There was no way to sustain that relationship, especially with a child involved.” He crossed his palms on the table. “I mean, there were so many issues between us, and yet…I think we would have found a way to make it work if we wanted to. But, you know, we were both free spirits.”

Pauline closed her eyes and shook her eyes. “Nothing’s changed much, baby brother.”

“But, you know, every time I talk with Lola over the phone,” Timothée continued, “it’s like old times, like when we were teenagers!”

“Before you guys decided to get back together?” Pauline replied, an eyebrow raised.

Timothée blushed and offered a sheepish grin. “Yeah. I mean… She was, I dunno…” He sighed before picking up his fork and taking another bite of chicken. “She was my friend – very sweet, confident in herself, sexy…”

Pauline smiled and nodded knowingly. She understood her brother’s attraction to her, but it made no sense. She would not bring up the subject of Armie; it was too painful to delve into. She long ago decided not to force the issue and just accepted that when the time came, Timothée would be ready to talk about their relationship.

“It’s just so weird she moved here, y’know?” he said to his sister. “Just up and left without really saying much. I still tell her that whenever we talk.”

“How often do you speak to her?”

Timothée contorted his mouth as though he tasted something sour. “Not often enough. And it’s not because we don’t care for each other, but… I don’t know…”

Pauline swallowed another mouthful of wine before setting the glass down and looking at Timothée. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared. You’re scared because the two of you have a daughter that you raised mostly on your own. From what I understand, she has never given you a clear explanation as to why she did what she did. And even after all these years, you’re still hurt and angry, and you’re afraid to confront her. You don’t want to know what she’s thinking or what she’s going to say. Parents just don’t leave their children behind, and you know that! You don’t want to hurt her feelings, and you’re not trying to, but you’re not being fair by being dishonest, either.”

“Goddamn,” he hissed, running a hand across his face. “I’m not afraid, Pauline! Jesus, you sound just like him!”

Pauline’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who?”

Timothée froze, the color draining from his face. Setting his lips in a tight line, he stood up to take his dishes to the kitchen, adding as he passed his sister’s chair, “You know who.”

*******************

In the glow of the lamplight, he stared at the messages on his phone, deleting every one of them. It seemed to take hours, but Timothée was happy to just clean house. Whether it was the shock of it all or something else – perhaps his own sister’s words – he did not feel like playing along. Everyone in Hollywood seemed to want to reach out to him and say something, as if he had been family. But he knew the truth of the matter, the same one that Luca and even Armie tried to steer him toward – it was all a game. Nobody really cared. He had no time for condolences or pretenses.

He stared out of the window of his bedroom, his glass of wine refilled and held in his hand by the bowl. The street noise seemed to die down to a trickle, but even the quiet unnerved him. The apartment itself seemed too still, the only sound provided being the humming of the refrigerator in the kitchen. It was a chore to hear himself think, even about nothing.

He soon glanced over at his suitcase on the bed, opened and partially packed. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. He took some time to rest, although he’d barely started. But he figured that there would be time; the three of them would not leave for Italy for another thirty-six hours. And it was late, anyway – why wake the place up with unnecessary noise?

He took another sip of wine before he walked over to the bed. He sat the glass on the nightstand and put his head in his hands. He replayed the dinner conversation he had with Pauline and winced at her words.

_I think you’re scared._

Scared? When had he ever been scared?

It was the same message of denial that had been rendered. For someone so used to telling the truth, it was greater to handle when it came from someone else, especially someone he loved. He made too many enemies in his lifetime; one of them was himself.

He knew he was not the only one.

*****************

_**2035** _

_Timothée heard the deep sigh over the line, the shuffling of papers in the background as a momentary distraction. He stood outside the door of his hotel room, watching over Liliane as she slept. He knew it was coming; all he needed were the words._

__”Elizabeth is… very sick, Timmy,” _Armie replied, his voice hick with emotion._ ”I can’t just leave her!” __

_“I’m not asking for that,” Timothée lied, keeping his composure. “I just want to see you for some time together. I’m in the area. I’ll bring Lili by for a visit, if that helps.”_

__”It could,” _the elder man replied,_ ”but it won’t change things. It’s just…not looking well for her right now, and I’m not trying to upset her or the kids.” __

_“You won’t,” Timothée said to him, his voice dripping with desperation. “Oh, God, Armie. “I’m really sorry. It’s just... “Look, it’s just been hell dealing with these custody proceedings. I mean, we’re trying to be amicable and all that shit, but there’s just been so much hurt between us. I can’t take it anymore, man!” He sighed with frustration. “Listen, I don’t wat to hurt you or your family any more than I probably have, but… I just need you.”  
_

_Timothée had not realized how greatly he ached for Armie. He could not believe how low he was sinking just to feel him close._

__”Timothée, please,” _Armie retorted, his stern voice cutting through the line._ ”Please understand that I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s just complicated, that’s all.” __

_Timothée had to pull he phone away from his ear to keep from yelling. He knew the circumstances were dire, but he was not sure what to believe. The man made a choice, but even he seemed confused in Timothée’s mind.  
_

_There was a sharp intake of breath before Armie spoke again._ ”Listen, give me some time, and I will call you. It might be a little late.” __

_Timothée swallowed and closed his eyes. “Please. Just get here.”_


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated this story in a long time, but it is dragging a bit. I have decided to start the next chapter in Crema, because that is where the action will pick up. Until then, enjoy!

CHAPTER VII

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – AUGUST 10, 2:30 PM

Armie stood over the basin in the upstairs bathroom, washing his face to scrub away the previous night’s grief and fatigue. He hissed as he got some of the cleanser in his eye and turned on the cold water to clean it off. Splashing the water on his face, he slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror.

 _God_ , he thought, _when the hell did I get so old_?

His eyes shifted back and forth as he searched for his electric razor, realizing that his beard needed more than a trim. He opened the mirror and pulled out the small machine and inspected it, its blades still clean despite lack of use. Somehow, he never removed them from previous use, which was unlike him as he liked to keep his things in order. He took the towel off his shoulder and dried his face before pulling out the blades to clean and dry them. When he was done, he placed the blades back in and plugged the cord into the wall, looking at himself in the mirror once again before turning on the motor.

If he was going to see Timmy in Italy, he might as well look presentable.

*******************

“Daddy’s birthday’s in less than three weeks, Marlon,” Harper said, holding the phone to her ear as she folded the laundry on the couch. “Yes, I plan to spend time with him… No, I wasn’t trying to run away from the children! They know what’s going on.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You know, sometimes, you’re insufferable. Why are you so needy?... You know, when I married you, I didn’t think I was gonna have this problem!”

She threw her hands down, dropping the pants she was folding and holding the phone away from her ear to take a breath before placing it back. “Do you know how many times I’ve had this discussion with my father? He doesn’t want to move! It’s not as easy for him to get over things, you know that… Be a little more sensitive, honey… Yes, I know it’s been seven years, but you can’t just pin your hopes on something like that… Of course, I want him to see the kids, but… Listen, I’m getting us ready to go to a funeral. We will be flying out in a day or two. I need your patience… Okay, bye.”

Harper sighed before putting her head in her hand. Being away from home was already frustrating, but she was glad that she was not in San Antonio having this discussion face-to-face. Marlon was already perturbed about her father’s distance – seemingly more than she was – which unnerved her. Sure, she understood that his own family was very close, but the expectations put upon her by him to try and move her father down south were enormous and impossible, and at various times, she cautioned him to put an end to the campaign. If her marriage did not show signs of trouble before, they were becoming clear now.

It also did not help that her children were asking her questions, mostly when she was going to come home. She had not planned to stay long, but it was something that she needed to take care of. Armie was all alone, and even though her uncle Viktor was around, it would not have been the same. She knew Armie needed some sort of affection to drown out the loneliness.

“Harper?” she heard him call out to her, breaking the reverie. 

“Coming, Dad,” she responded, racing up the stairs to the bathroom.

She found her father standing at the mirror, a pair of shears in his hands. He turned to face her, and she gasped, taking in his appearance. Armie’s hair was slicked back, and he had shaven most of his beard off, leaving a neat goatee. Harper smiled; her father seemed to look more handsome, and she nearly blushed at the sight of him. It was weird seeing him like this, even after all this time. There was a glimmer of the man she remembered, and it was good to see him again.

“You look good, Daddy,” she whispered, a teardrop in her voice.

Armie grinned, pride glowing on his face like sun rays. He looked down at the instrument in his hands and replied, “Thanks, but I will, uh… I’ll need some help with my hair. You think you can help your old man with that?”

Harper’s smiled faded, her face in wonder. “Of course, Dad. Mind you, I haven’t done it in a while.”

Armie frowned. “Don’t you cut the twins’ hair?”

Harper sighed before gently taking the shears out of his hand. “Yeah, I do, but Marlon insists on taking them to the barbershop, so I don’t always get the chance.”

At the sound of her husband’s name, Armie’s face darkened. Harper shivered, then took his hand and led him out of the bathroom.

“You know, I never liked him,” Armie replied, the words venomous on his lips.

“I know, Daddy,” Harper quietly answered as they approached his bedroom.

PARIS, FRANCE – AUGUST 10, 11:00 PM

Timothée was wide awake again.

He sighed deeply as another sleepless night claimed him. As he laid in bed, the conversation with his sister came into his mind again, and he closed his eyes trying to will it away. Some things were just better not to think about.  


He had gone to bed without wishing Pauline good night. He cleaned the dishes and hurried to his room to get undressed. Meanwhile, Liliane was already asleep. He entered the room next door and kissed her on the forehead before slipping back to his own room to sleep.

He did not remember when the insomnia started; it just began unexpectedly. Now, after everything that happened, it just seemed worse. He wanted to discount his sister’s claims, but a small part of him knew she was telling the truth. Fear was holding him back, and he knew that he needed to deal with it at some point.

Turning onto his side, visions of Armie entered his mind – young, brilliant smile, piercing ocean blue eyes; body undressed, his muscular, tanned figure glistening with sweat, hair blowing in the wind. He was beautiful, strong, a man of desire. When he was younger, Timothée idolized – even envied – Armie for the way he seemed to bring characters to life on film. He was equally charmed by his sweetness and protective nature. The crush did not develop until the first brush of intimate contact between Oliver and Elio, and Timothée never shivered so much under someone’s touch. The two of them shared a look, and later, a bed. 

Timothée remembered the warmth of Armie’s touch, the gentle fingers sloping his body; the lips and tongue caressing every part of him, the burn of pleasure as he drove inside Timothée’s slight frame. He remembered kissing him, tasting cigarettes and wine; the scent of sandalwood in his cologne every time they stood near each other. He soon began to grow hard, and he sighed in annoyance.

In the dark, dreams of Armie were vivid, but the past seemed to be a blur. Timothée felt some guilt about what he put that family through, but he was trying to satisfy a desire. In the end, the more he tried, the greater the distance became, until it was too much for Armie.

Sometimes, he wondered if he still felt the pull, too.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long - I apologize for that. Real life stuff and all. I don't even want to get into how bad it's been, but I'm sure it could have been much worse. Anyway, the chapter is quite short. I have been struggling with where to take this story, even though I have many ideas. Apart from that, I hope everyone else is okay. Here is the new chapter. Thank you for your patience.

CHAPTER VIII

CREMA, ITALY – AUGUST 13, 4:30 PM

It had been a pleasant flight, but Armie could not wait to get out of his seat. It had been too long since he had flown in a plane, and even longer since he took an international flight. Walking up and down the aisles could only suffice for so long, and he needed a cigarette so badly.

Harper sat next to her father the entire flight, watching him fidget as he tried to push through the nerves. She knew it had nothing to do with flying, but he seemed calmer once he was on _terra firma_. It was as if something calmed him once the air hit his skin and the salt of the sea stung his nose. Walking outside to a taxi, they placed their bags in the trunk of the car and traveled to the hotel.

Harper sat in the back of the car with her father and held his hand as they drove through the countryside. Without a thought, she pressed a kiss to Armie’s shoulder. Armie looked down at her and smiled, gently rubbing his nose against her cheek.

The ride was silent, which Armie was thankful for. He lost all grasp of the Italian he learned years ago, so attempting conversation would not be possible. No, he needed this time to think, to process; he had been away from the country - _this town_ \- for so long. And then, there was Harper to consider – no longer a child, but always needing her father. A part of her once belonged to this place, innocence captured in sunlight and warmth. She did not remember too much of it, but Armie could, and it tore at his heart.

_But Timmy…_

Armie removed the thought with a shake of his head. Harper noticed it and looked at him. A wan smile softened his slightly hardened features, his eyes twinkling with unshed tears. Rubbing his shoulder, she rested her head against his and closed her eyes.

This would not be over soon enough.

*******************

Timothée wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped outside into the orchard. The trees were lush with fruits, the foliage bright and green. The grass crunched underneath his feet as he walked through the yard, carrying a blank stare and his hands in his pockets. He longed for this scenery – simple, peaceful, sweet air compared to the acrid stench of industry back in New York. Even Paris could not compare to this.

But it felt so foreign now that Luca was gone.

The family was staying in his house, an invitation extended to them by Ferdinando. Only getting there the day before, the girls were happy to sleep. Timothée, however, was not so fortunate. Once full of life and excitement, it suddenly felt heavier and imposing in Luca’s absence, darkness shrouding the quarters. Luca’s room had been closed off, and even though it went unspoken, it was obvious that Ferdinando could not sleep there.

“When you are with someone for as long as I have been with Luca,” he told Timothée hours after their arrival, “you want to be near every part of them. Right now, all I feel is distance, some strange force keeping me away.”

Timothée thought about that as he meandered through the orchard, curious about the state of Luca’s room. It was not that he was curious to go into it, but the death had been so violent. Was the blood against the walls? Did it splatter everywhere? How could such a brilliant mind be blown to bits with his own hand, and why did it matter so much?

“Papa,” he heard Liliane cry. He turned his head in response as she stood against the doorframe. “Are you alright?”

Timothée took a deep breath before nodding and holding out his hand to her. “Come, baby. Walk with your dad for a minute.”

Liliane smiled softly, stepping off the stone step and walking toward him. She fiddled with the hem of her pink dress looking down at the grass. Timothée sighed as he watched her; she seemed anxious, and he was not sure why.

When they were finally in front of each other, she looked up at him. His smile fell when he saw the tears running down her face, her lower lip trembling.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just…overwhelmed. There’s so much of you here. I wish I’d seen more of it.”

Timothée gathered her in his arms and kissed her forehead. “The stories don’t do it justice, do they?”

“I don’t mind you telling them,” she replied, wiping her eyes as they started to walk. “I feel like I’ve heard every one of them.”

“Well,” he sighed, pulling her closer, “there is one story I haven’t told. Hopefully, I can remember it all.”

She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side. “You don’t have to tell it now. We can just walk quietly. I think you need that.”

Timothée nodded, appreciating his daughter’s wisdom. “Shall we?”


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! It's been a while. It's been a busy 2019 so far. I can't promise better or sooner updates, but I need to get back into the groove of writing.
> 
> Enjoy!

CHAPTER IX

From upstairs, Pauline watched her brother and her niece as they walked through the orchard, the pads of her fingers pressing against the window pane. She declined to go outside, opting instead to rest, but she was really giving Timothée his distance. 

They had barely spoken since Timothée stormed away from the dinner table in Paris. There were a few phrases here and there disguised as customary greetings, but it was mostly tense. Seeing her family physically away from her put a heavy load on her heart, an unfamiliar strain that brought along a fatigue she could not shake after arriving in Crema. She closed her eyes and began to exhale slowly, her hands trembling as she held onto the side of the window. She bent her head down, mentally calculating footsteps between the window and the bed as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

She could not imagine why this could be happening, but she knew she was hurt. She missed being close to her brother, his warmth and tenderness. 

_One. Two. Three_.

Pauline slowly backed into the bed and collapsed onto the mattress, her body gradually sinking in as little gasps emitted from her throat. Where was this attack coming from? This had never happened before. Heart racing, beads of sweat on her forehead... It was all strange. 

Her erratic breathing began to even out as she stared at the ceiling, closing her eyes every now and again to rid herself of the dizziness that crippled her without warning. The bile slowly made its way back down to her stomach, and the warmth from her body began to dissipate. 

She chalked up the episode to the summer heat - nothing more, nothing less.

***************

Timothée reached up to pluck two peaches from a nearby tree, squeezing them firmly. He handed one of them to Liliane before reaching for another, straining as he took it in his grasp.

"We should probably check on _Tatie_ ," Liliane said quietly, running a finger atop the fruit. "We have been out here for a while."

Timothée checked his watched and his eyebrows shot up. "Almost two hours! Wow!" He put his hand down and squinted at the sun. "You're right. We should go inside."

He walked over to his daughter, who brushed herself against his body walked alongside him. As they approached the door, Liliane put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Timothée turned to face her , feeling a chill run through his body as her hand began stroking his cheek. They both exchanged smiles before they turned their attention to the door.

Stepping inside, they were greeted by Ferdinando, who had a worried look on his face. He was quite pale and his thin were drawn into a thin line. The two of them exchanged glances as they watched him pace the room.

"Is everything alright, Ferdinando?" Timothée asked, taking the other peach from Liliane.

"Oh, _tesoro_ ," Ferdinando sighed. "I'm trying to find my reading glasses. I thought I had them here..." His sentence trailed off as he started muttering in Italian. 

Perhaps Timothée hadn't lost too much Italian as he heard Luca's name thrown in. Perhaps this elder wished them man were there to keep him sane and help him find the things he was looking for. Like a pair of reading glasses.

Timothée learned Ferdinando began to lose his eyesight a year before Luca's death. And yet, he hated the feeling of having glasses. He would lose them occasionally whenever he took them off; he was lucky he could find them by his nightstand when he woke up in the morning.

"Let me take these to the kitchen, then I'll help you," Timothée declared lightly.

"It's alright, Papa," Liliane said to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll help him."

Timothée shook his head with a smile before kissing her cheek. " _Ma fille_..."

Walking to the kitchen balancing the peaches in his hands, Timothée stopped himself and looked at the staircase. He was concerned about Pauline, as he had not seen her in a while. Perhaps she had been resting; she seemed very tired on the way to the house.

Carefully, he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, where he found the door closed. He paused for a beat before kicking the door three times. He waited, looking around the large space. It seemed that way when he was there before; now it just seemed the walls were closing in.

The knob turned with a click, bringing him back to focus. Slowly, the door opened, and there stood Pauline before him. Timothée's face crinkled in concern as he noticed how pale her skin was, how heavy the bags under her eyes were.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "Did I wake you?"

Pauline shook her head, managing a wan smile. Timothée started to say something else when she finally spoke.

" _Les pêches_ ," she whispered, looking down at her brother's hands and grabbing the fruit. "I'm surprised you never got sick of them!"

She turned and walked back into the room with Timothée following behind her. As she set them down on the table near the bed, he came up beside her, his hands encircling her waist. She gasped, turning her head to face him. She stood straighter, pressing her back against his chest as he held her.

Timothée rested his head against hers, leaving a kiss on her cheek. In return, she tightened her hand around his before pressing her own lips to his temple. They stood there in silence, the whistling of the birds and the soft rustling of branches against the window the only sounds in the room.


End file.
